As Miraal sought solace in her relatives' house, they enveloped her with warmth and compassion, like a soft, comforting embrace. Their initial gestures of solace and concern offered her a glimmer of hope, like a fragile bud blooming amidst the chaos of her overwhelming grief.

However, as time unfurled its wings and days turned into weeks, Miraal started to sense a subtle metamorphosis in her relatives' behavior. Like delicate petals shedding their vibrant colors, their once supportive and kind facade crumbled, revealing an undercurrent of manipulation that toyed with her vulnerability.

One afternoon, Miraal found herself in the bustling kitchen, diligently preparing meals while her aunt, chachi, supervised her every move. The atmosphere was tense, and Miraal's mind buzzed with a mixture of exhaustion and confusion.

"Miraal sabzi acchese kaatna baarik baarik (Miraal, make sure the vegetables are chopped finely)" her aunt instructed, her tone laced with an undercurrent of authority. "Aur uske baad bartan dhulna mat bhulna. Aaj mehmaan aarhey haina (And don't forget to clean the dishes afterward. We have guests coming tonight)"

Miraal nodded, her weariness evident in her eyes. She couldn't help but feel that these tasks were no longer about supporting her through her grief but rather about keeping her occupied and submissive.

As days turned into weeks, Miraal started to notice a pattern. Her relatives increasingly relied on her for various household chores, putting her in a position of servitude rather than support. They seemed to exploit her vulnerability, taking advantage of her fragile emotional state to fulfill their own desires

Yet amidst this labyrinth of deceit, Miraal discovered a flicker of light, a beacon of hope in the form of Zoheb's maternal cousin, Zubiya. Like two lost souls navigating the same tempestuous sea, they found solace in each other's company. Zubiya, a kindred spirit who had endured the shackles of this hellhole her entire childhood, understood Miraal's pain and shared her wounds.

"Rukhsana Khaala bohot lalchi hai. Jab main yahaan pehli baar aayi thi, unhone meri mazlumiyat ka faida uthakar saare hisse apne naam par karwa diye (Rukhsana chachi is extremely greedy. When I first came to this house she took advantage of my naivety and transferred my father's shares to hers) ," Zubiya confided one day as they stood side by side, washing the dishes. The warm water cascaded over their fingers, creating a soothing symphony as they found solace in their shared vulnerability.

The rays of the setting sun danced upon their faces, painting golden hues of trust and understanding. Zubiya's words carried the weight of experience, her voice resonating with a mix of resignation and determination. Miraal listened intently, her heart open to the truths hidden beneath the surface, her soul craving freedom from the clutches of manipulation.

"Miraal, yahaan se bhaag jao. Mere paas toh koi ghar nahi hai, warna main bhi bhaag jaati (Miraal please runaway from this heel. If I had a home, I would have escaped too) ," Zubiya pleaded, her eyes reflecting the pain she had carried for far too long. The weight of their shared suffering hung in the air, intertwining their destinies like fragile tendrils.

Miraal, who had remained silent, unable to fathom the possibilities beyond her current existence, let out a dry laugh. The sound echoed with a tinge of bitterness, mirroring the realization of her limited choices.

"Aur kahaan jaoongi? Tum bhool gayi ho, mere Baba ka inteqaal ho chuka hai mera koi ghar nahi hai (And where would I go? You forgot my father had died, I have no home to return to) ," she replied, her voice laced with melancholy. The memories of her father, the promises they had made, lingered like a bittersweet melody, tugging at her heartstrings.

"Tumhari khaala? (What about your maternal aunt?) " Zubiya's eyes glistened with empathy as she sat on the counter, her presence a calming force amidst the storm within Miraal's soul.

"Unke shauhar bohot zaalim hai, agar me unke saath thehri toh unko mazid pareshaniyon ka saamna karna padega (Her husband is an aggressive man, I don't want to burden her with my responsibility)", Miraal shared shaking her head, "Phir... tumhara woh mangetar (Then... What about that fiance of yours?) ," Zubiya suggested after a long pause, her voice carrying a glimmer of hope, like a distant melody on the breeze.

Miraal's eyes were drawn to the diamond ring adorning her finger, shimmering like a radiant promise she had made to her father. She had halfheartedly embraced his every wish, but somewhere deep within, she had accepted this man as her fiancé. Her father had woven tales of his heroism, his unwavering sense of responsibility, and his compassion for those less fortunate. In her young, impressionable mind, he had become a knight in shining armor, and she had imagined his face countless times.

But as she had grown older, those fantasies had faded, leaving behind a ring worn solely to ward off unwanted proposals and to keep her father's memory alive. Yet, Zubiya's words lingered in the air, like a tantalizing whisper of possibility.

"Miraal, kahaan kho gayi? (Miraal, what are you thinking of?) " Zubiya called out, breaking Miraal's reverie and pulling her back from the edge of her daydreams. Miraal blinked, her gaze refocusing on the present moment, her mind still captivated by the enchantment of her thoughts. "Zubiya, mai aaj tak unse nahi mili, nakoi tasveer dekhi hai unki maine. Kya pata unki shaadi ho gayi ho ab tak? Baees saal purana waada kaun rakhta hai? (Zubiya, I have never met him. What if he is married? Anyways who keeps promises after a decade has passed?)" she explained to Zubiya, her voice filled with longing and uncertainty.

Zubiya nodded, her eyes filled with understanding, yet she couldn't help but challenge Miraal's skepticism. "Tum galat bhi ho sakti ho, Miraal. Khan bohot pakke hote hain apne waadon ke. Kya pata abhi woh tumhara intezaar kar rahe hon? (You could be wrong too, Miraal. Khan's are people of their words, what if he is waiting for you?)"

Miraal's eyes widened at the mere possibility, and a surge of emotions washed over her like a gentle tide. She brushed off Zubiya's words as mere flights of fancy, born out of the longing that echoed in both their hearts. Yet, in thesolitude of her loneliness, Miraal couldn't help but indulge in dreams of her elusive prince. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she found herself whisked away to a realm of pure enchantment.

In her dream, a gentle breeze caressed Miraal's face, carrying with it the intoxicating scent of roses and the promise of something extraordinary. The wind whispered ancient secrets as it wove through her hair, guiding her towards a scene that felt both familiar and ethereal. And there, amidst the garden of blooming roses, she saw him-the man who had captured her heart.

He lay peacefully amidst a bed of wildflowers, like a slumbering prince in a storybook. His tousled hair, kissed by the breeze, framed his serene face, accentuating his rugged charm. The golden rays of the sun painted a warm glow upon his features, casting a spell of tranquility around him. A single rose petal, delicate and velvety, gently descended from a nearby bush, landing gracefully on his outstretched hand.

As Miraal's eyes traced the contours of his face, a glimmer of light caught her attention. Her gaze was drawn to his hand, and there, upon his finger, she saw it-the golden ring that perfectly matched her own. The realization struck her like a bolt of lightning, intertwining their destinies in a profound and inexplicable way.

Her heart skipped a beat as she reached out, her fingers trembling with a mix of anticipation and wonder. The touch of the ring sent ripples of electricity through her, connecting them across the ethereal boundaries of her dream. It was as if their souls had recognized each other, entwining in a dance of fate and longing.

In that fleeting moment, Miraal felt a surge of emotions-love, belonging, and a deep sense of knowing.

But just as the realization washed over her, the dream began to fade, slipping away like sand through her fingers. The garden dissolved, the breeze whispered its final secrets, and Miraal's eyes fluttered open. She found herself back in the familiar surroundings of her room, the dream slipping away into the realm of memory.

The contrast between this dreamlike encounter and Miraal's reality was stark. Her life, once filled with warmth and love, had grown cold and distant. The air that once carried laughter and joy now seemed heavy with tension and unfulfilled dreams. In the midst of this bleakness, Miraal held onto the dream as a glimmer of hope, a beacon of light shining through the cracks in her everyday life.

She longed for the sweetness and enchantment she experienced in her dreams to permeate her waking existence. The dream became an escape, a refuge from the harsh realities that surrounded her. It provided a brief respite from the mundane and ignited a fire within her, reminding her of the love and happiness she yearned for.

As she lay there, her heart still echoing with the magic of the dream, a sense of hope lingered within her. The sight of the matching ring had ignited a spark of belief, a belief that somewhere out there, the man she had seen in her dreams was waiting for her.

Meanwhile, in the solitude of his chamber, Abraar Khan awoke from his slumber, his heart still heavy with the weight of his recurring dream-the haunting image of his father's untimely demise. The fragments of their last conversation echoed in his mind, unfulfilled and hanging in the air like unspoken promises. Determined to find solace, Abraar found himself drawn to the almirah, his eyes fixated on the cherished mementos left behind by his father.

As his gaze fell upon the vibrant pagdi his father had lovingly bestowed upon him, memories flooded his senses. He could almost feel the rough fabric beneath his fingers, the weight of tradition and pride intertwining with his own identity. The scent of musk and sandalwood lingered in the air, conjuring images of his father's strong presence and guiding wisdom.

Yet, his attention shifted to the shawl resting upon his bed. Its softness beckoned to him, its threads whispered tales of comfort and warmth. Abraar seated himself upon the edge of the bed, his fingertips gently grazing the velvety fabric. His eyes closed, immersing himself in the sanctuary of memories, as moonlight spilled through the window, casting an ethereal glow upon his contemplative visage.

In that quiet moment of introspection, Abraar's fingers brushed against something cool and metallic. His touch came upon the familiar form of the golden ring-a token of the unfulfilled promise.

Abraar had seen this ring countless times before, but now, in this moment of curiosity, he truly beheld its intricate beauty. His eyes widened with wonder as he delicately untied the ring from the folds of the shawl and slipped it onto his finger. It fit perfectly, as if crafted specifically for him, forging an intangible bond between the dream and reality.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the window, as if summoned by the invisible thread that connected Miraal and Abraar. It carried with it the scent of blooming roses, the wind danced around Abraar, encircling him with an otherworldly presence.